


Small Blessings

by louciferish



Series: By Chance One Turns [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Nanny, Angst, Bullying, Christmas, Domestic, Drama & Romance, Gay Panic, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Ice Skating, Kid Fic, Kissing, M/M, POV Victor Nikiforov, Secrets, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-07 12:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: A series of short side-stories giving Victor's perspective of events throughout By Chance One Turns.Currently on indefinite hiatus.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: By Chance One Turns [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546726
Comments: 183
Kudos: 334





	1. Hands & Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes up front:
> 
> 1\. You don't need to read these in order to understand the main story. They're simply an enhancement.
> 
> 2\. Definitely _do not_ start reading these unless you've finished up to at least Ch. 14 of the main story. 
> 
> 3\. These will be short, and they also may not come in the same temporal order as the events in the main story, as when I can post them is dependent on certain things being revealed in the main story
> 
> 4\. For now, I've mimicked tags and downgraded the rating compared to By Chance, but tags may get added here as I'm doing these as I go
> 
> 5\. These are also written on a much shorter time frame than the main story. Each chapter of the main story has been through _four_ rounds of edits before posting. These are getting, at best, two. Please be forgiving of minor issues that may arise as a result. :)
> 
> This first bit takes place during Ch. 1, when Yuuri attends his interview at the nanny agency.

“Mr. Nikiforov, are you quite sure you want to do this? You must know it’s a bit… unorthodox.” 

Caught in the midst of straightening his hat in the office mirror, Victor pauses, his fingers hooked around the edge. It’s extremely difficult to wear a beanie without flattening one’s hair in an odd way. “Lisa. Do you really think I would be wearing this _ugly_ hat in here if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary?”

Ambrose tuts, clicking her pen. It must be the tenth time she’s done that since he walked through the door. 

He’s getting to her. Good. He hasn’t lost his touch. 

“But, if you aren’t willing to allow it, I suppose I could find another nanny agency that would—”

“No no no,” Ambrose says quickly, raising her hands. “That won’t be necessary. Whatever you would prefer is fine with Hands & Hearts. Far be it from me to interfere with your parenting style.”

“Excellent,” Victor declares, then turns back to the mirror and twists the hat again. His teenage self, with all his flair and sparkle, would faint at the idea of someday trying to _hide_ his famous hair—or make himself look less attractive in any way. Thankfully, at twenty-seven, Victor has outgrown at least a little of his younger self’s vanity. A little.

He finally settles for the hat merely covering all of his hair, then slips on the cheap, oversized sunglasses he bought at CVS on his way to the office. The Gucci pair he prefers are tucked away in the pocket of his hoodie, but might draw too much attention.

With everything in place, he flashes the very flustered Ms. Ambrose a smile, then lets himself out into the lobby. The receptionist waves to him, then quickly returns to her computer, tapping away at the keys in what he knows is not, in fact, a spreadsheet, but a game of Snake. 

Since there are three chairs to choose from, he takes the center. No matter what, this Katsuki person will have to sit next to Victor while he awaits his turn with Lisa—plenty of opportunity for Victor to get up close and personal with Maia’s potential future nanny, while not giving himself away.

The office is quiet except for the tap-tap-tap of the receptionist’s keyboard. Victor stares at the black and white photograph framed on the wall across from him and lets his eyes and mind both lose focus.

For all his confidence with Ambrose, he’s nervous. He catches his leg bouncing and has to force it to stop, pressing down on his own knee. He’s not sure Maia’s ready for this. He’s not sure _he’s_ ready for this. School had seemed such a long way off when he’d made his promise to Yakov. At twenty-three, still caught up in the elation of recent gold medals, he’d been so certain his break from skating would be only temporary. He’d thought want to he’d rush back, and that he’d have Maia in full-time care by age three.

He was a fool, and now Yakov won’t let him make any more excuses. 

_Either come back or retire, Vitya. I don’t care which. But you must make up your mind which puddle your feet will be planted in, for both of you._ With Maia starting school soon, Victor is running out of reasons to delay his promise further. He only needs a caregiver who will be able to fill in the gaps when he travels.

Easier said than done. Victor _has_ been nanny shopping for about six months now, but his reluctance to let Maia go acts as a microscope, pointing out miniscule flaws in every candidate. He can’t hand his Myshka off to just anyone! Even this Katsuki is a risk. He has experience, sure, and his fluency in Japanese is the kind of rare skill Victor had been hoping for, but still Victor hasn’t dared to hope the match might work.

Most of Katsuki’s childcare experience comes from coaching at a skating rink, which means he may be familiar with Victor’s career. It would be a big risk, letting a fan into his private life. He knows the kinds of things skating fans still post about him online, wondering where he’s been and theorizing that he’s died, joined a cult, or been locked away in an institution somewhere. That’s why Victor needs to be here, to see for himself what Yuuri Katsuki is like _before_ he gets Victor’s home address.

Ambrose clearly falls in the category of people who think that Victor is insane, but he knows his disguise will work. In two years of casual training at the same local rink, none of the staff have posted grainy photos of him to Golden Skate yet. 

A bell jingles above the agency’s door, and Victor resists the urge to sit up straighter. _Play casual_, he reminds himself, and doesn’t turn his head, simply following the man who enters with eyes concealed behind dark lenses. _Yuuri Katsuki_. Victor scrutinizes him as he approaches the front desk and then turns, pausing at the sight of Victor occupying the middle chair.

It’s clear he’s nervous. He’s clutching a manilla folder, hugging it to his chest, and when he takes the seat to Victor’s left, he sits forward, perched on the edge of his chair. And yet, even as he fidgets in his seat, he has a certain quality about him. Victor has to incline his head—just slightly—to get a better look.

Yuuri’s eyes are focused forward, his head high. He sucks in a shuddering breath and tugs at the knot of his atrocious blue tie, but at the same time, he’s composed. It reminds Victor of someone…

_Lilia._ That’s who. Victor forces his mouth to stay relaxed, though his lips twitch to reach for a smile at the thought of his own surrogate caregivers. Yakov and Lilia had come into his life right as Victor’s parents divorced, when he suddenly very much needed that extra support. They were very different from his parents, but at the same time, they’d all been a team.

Yuuri doesn’t seem as stern as Lilia tried to be, though. His eyes are gentle. He looks like the kind of man who would catch spiders in the house only to turn them loose in the garden. He looks like a man who likes dogs. 

When Ambrose calls Yuuri back, he hops up to his feet, eager, but even on his way into the interview he turns back, shooting a look of concern in Victor’s direction. Those deep brown eyes, they reach right through the protective sunglasses and grab Victor by the collar. 

Victor can barely hold himself in place throughout the interview. He doesn’t look at Yuuri as he passes back through the office on his way back outside, worried he’ll give the game away too soon. 

And yet, the moment Yuuri closes the door behind him, Victor whips off his sunglasses and frees his smile from its chains. 

Lisa Ambrose sighs, folding her arms across her chest. “_Really?_” she asks. “That one?”

“He’s the one, Lisa. Have the paperwork ready to go as soon as you can get it, then call him with the terms and see if he bites.” Victor stands, tucks the cheap glasses away, and pulls out the Gucci, slipping them into place on his nose. “I’ve got a good feeling about Yuuri Katsuki.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As expected, we're a bit out of temporal order with these. I do have a "first time Victor is Interested in Yuuri" ficlet outlined, but it involves some things not yet revealed, so I'll have to wait on that one. Instead, this one takes place... after that, but before Christmas, the public rink, etc.
> 
> For those of you who wanted a glimpse at Victor taking one of those photos Yuuri wasn't aware of, you're welcome ;)
> 
> Also, because I forgot to mention this last time: the title for this side-story is taken from the same song as By Chance One Turns, "Something More Besides You" by Cowboy Junkies
> 
> _This morning I awoke,  
The bed warm where it once was cold.  
Small blessings laid upon us.  
Small mysteries slowly unfold._

Victor grabs his towel from the back of his computer chair, wipes his hands, then dabs the sweat from his forehead. It’s still storming outside, like it has been all morning, and the rivulets of water running down the window pane make him grateful that he can get away with staying home sometimes. While he sometimes misses the excitement of living in the city, as well as how much less he had to clean in his small St. Petersberg flat, he does see some positives to neighborhood house life. Chief among them, today, is having an office space big enough to double as a home gym. When the snow or rain gets particularly disgusting, he can fit in off-ice training for a day without the grueling trip over to his preferred gym.

He cracked the window before his workout to keep the room cool, but despite the chilly autumn air seeping inside, he’s coated in sweat. His tank top is soaked from those last twenty minutes on the rowing machine, and his thighs are burning. Victor grabs his phone from the desk and texts Yakov to let him know his training for the day is done. Even though Victor’s an adult on the other side of the world, his coach still holds him accountable. It was frustrating at first, but after so many years, Victor has gotten used to it. Yakov has his own methods of holding on to his students, and he never let Victor go, not even at times when everyone else had.

Victor glances at the time on his laptop and smiles. It’s nearly three. Maia and Yuuri should be back from school already, and while Victor’s stomach is currently preoccupied with aching from his workout, he knows he’ll be hungry for an after-school snack himself soon. However—he picks at the front of his shirt and gives it a quick sniff, then wrinkles his nose—he also reeks of salt, musk, and unwashed laundry. Shower first, then family snack time. 

He drops his phone into a pocket and pushes the window open wide to air the office out, shivering as the crisp air hits the moisture on his skin, and tosses his towel over one shoulder before leaving, prepared for the long ten-foot walk to his bedroom and en suite. 

As he pads down the hall to his room, the sound of splashing catches his attention, echoing off the high ceiling from the open door to Maia’s bedroom. Curious, he creeps closer, his own hygiene forgotten. 

Like most kids her age, Maia isn’t overly fond of baths. Her bathroom is overpopulated with mermaid Barbies, strange ducks, rubber whales, and foam shapes she can stick on the wall of the bath, all of which bribe her to stay in the water longer, but it’s still pulling teeth to convince her to _wash_. If Yuuri somehow talked her into taking a bath in the middle of the afternoon, Victor is going to have to do something wild and impulsive to ensure the other man _never leaves_.

Victor sticks his head around the door jamb slowly, so as not to spook his Myshka mid-bath, and has to cover his mouth with one hand to hold back a chuckle at the sight that greets him.

It’s not Maia in the tub, but Makkachin, covered in a mountain of soap sud fluff and galloping around the bath in pursuit of a loose rubber ducky. The water sloshing up the bathtub walls is a deep beige that almost matches her fur, so she must have been quite a mess when she first got in. 

Maia is standing beside the tub, on top of the closet lid of the toilet, and holding a towel up like a shield. As Victor watches, she plucks a toy from the storage basket by the sink and tosses it into the water. Makka pounces, sending up a greyish tidal wave of bathwater, and Maia cackles in delight. 

Poor Yuuri is trapped at the center of this tableau, a harried figure trying to wrangle dog and child at once and neither of them helping. He’s wearing only running shorts and an undershirt in an effort to spare his nice clothing that Victor is all too familiar with. His black hair sticks up like sea urchin spines as he kneels beside the tub with his arms spread wide to corral Makkachin to stay in the bath. When the dog finally stops leaping around, Yuuri grabs a plastic cup from the floor, using it to rinse the soap and dirt from her furry butt.

Maia tosses a ball into the bath. _Whoosh_—another leap from Makka, and another squeal of delight from Maia as Yuuri gets drenched. 

Victor can’t resist reaching for his phone. Maia is dancing on the toilet, bouncing on her toes, and Makka’s tongue lolls out in a big doggy grin. Despite the frantic, flailing motions Yuuri is making with his arms, Victor can hear him laughing too, quiet but echoing on the bathroom tile. It’s exactly the kind of moment Victor wants to remember, long after the world has caught up with them and Maia has grown.

He takes a few quick pictures, smiling down at the screen as he spams the button, hoping if he takes a lot then one will come out good despite all the movement. Satisfied, he puts the phone away and looks up again. 

Yuuri turns to grab the shampoo from the counter, and Victor feels his smile melt away as his heart stutters. _Oh._ Makka’s splashing around has soaked Yuuri thoroughly. His hair, damp, is swept back from his face, highlighting his cheekbones, and his tank top has gone transparent. Through the thin white cotton sticking to his skin, Victor can see the curve of muscle in Yuuri’s chest, the outline of a brown nipple, the divot where the fabric has sealed to his stomach. Victor’s mouth goes dry.

When Yuuri turns further, Victor pulls away from the door, turning to press his back into the wall beside it. His face is burning like he’s a teenager again, curious but afraid to get caught peeking in the locker room, and he covers his face with both hands, trying to contain the reaction. He knows he’s being inappropriate. Yuuri is his _employee_, and there are lines he shouldn’t get too close to. 

If something were to happen, if he ever made Yuuri uncomfortable in his home, there’s so much Victor and Maia could both lose.

Taking a deep breath to settle back in his skin, Victor lowers his hands and pushes away from the wall, back into the hallway. He can still hear them playing around—Makka’s splashes, Maia laughing, and then Yuuri softly scolding her in both English and Japanese—but Victor makes himself keep walking away, back to his own bathroom, his own shower. It’s going to be another cold one.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took longer because it is longer! 
> 
> This bit runs parallel with a segment of chapter 5, where Victor and Yuuri must attend a parent-teacher conference at Maia's school, and takes place prior to the Makka bathing section I posted last time.
> 
> I had requests on twitter for both the parent-teacher conference scene and the moment when Victor first realizes he's developing a true interest in Yuuri, so...

There’s a knot the size of Makkachin in the pit of Victor’s stomach as he runs down the staircase, trying to organize his thoughts in a dozen directions at once. The office assistant at Maia’s school wouldn’t say what the problem was on the phone, and Yuuri still isn’t back, and Victor knows he’s catastrophizing but also _what if something has happened?_ He’s been down that road before: sudden cryptic calls, things that can’t be said on the phone, and then a rush to _be somewhere_ as quick as he can. He can’t help that spike of familiar fear that seizes him. 

He’s got a second cup of coffee poured in an insulated mug, and he’s managed to change from leggings into proper trousers, but he’s got the shirt he picked out slung over one shoulder. He still needs shoes, a belt, and a jacket at least to leave the house. Makkachin needs water in her bowl. He needs to call Yuuri. He needs to let Yakov know he may be late for their call. He needs—

The door opens right in front of his face, nearly hitting him, and something that was tight in Victor’s chest relaxes infinitesimally when Yuuri steps inside. He’s fine. He’s a little windswept, cheeks red from the November gusts, and there’s a single brown leaf caught fluttering between his jacket and his scarf, but he’s fine and, more importantly, he might know what’s going on with Maia.

“Ah, there you are,” Victor says. 

“Were you, uh— Were you looking for me?” Yuuri seems surprised, and that’s probably a good sign, but he’s also clearly preoccupied, fussing with the lid of a coffee from the little cafe near Maia’s school. That must be why he took so long getting back. The place is delicious, but not fast.

“Maia’s school called.” And, judging from Yuuri’s reaction, he’s _definitely_ surprised. He’s also worried, which, perversely, makes Victor feel better. As Victor explains the parent-teacher conference, he also gets his thoughts organized enough to remember that he still needs to put a shirt on. Right. He pulls it on, then looks down to focus on doing up the buttons. “Do you have any idea what this is about?”

“Me?” Yuuri’s cheeks are still pink, and it can’t be from the wind any more. He’s _flustered_, and oh—of course. Victor’s his boss, and he’s been standing around with no shirt in the living room. Damn. He was so wrapped up in concern about Maia that he forgot not everyone has spent half their life running in and out of locker rooms in varying states of undress. Yuuri must be body shy. 

It’s cute. The way he blushes is even cute. Victor has always been embarrassed about his own tendency to flush with excitement, which seems to concentrate on his nose and ears, drawing extra attention to the two features he’s now grateful to have _grown into_.

And then Yuuri groans, “Oh no,” and Victor’s attention snaps back to where it’s meant to be: Maia.

When Yuuri explains what happened, Maia’s pleas to stay home, Victor can feel his heart going soft, not just at the thought of his myshka upset, but at the way Yuuri responds to it. He’s only been with them a couple months, but it’s clear that Yuuri’s fretting just as much as Victor was. He’s picking at the bits of leaf stuck to his scarf as he talks, eyes down, and Victor has to reassure him. 

“Oh, Yuuri,” he says. “Do you think I’m going to be upset with you about that?” It seems to do the trick, at least a little. He can see some give in the tension pulling Yuuri’s shoulders up, so he keeps going, trying to make sure that Yuuri understands there was nothing wrong in how he handled the morning. Whatever caused the school to call home, it’s not any fault of Yuuri’s.

It’s probably instinct from raising a child that makes Victor reach out physically as well, hand resting on Yuuri’s shoulder in a gesture that’s meant to comfort, but beneath his palm he feels Yuuri tense again. _Double damn._ He’s an employer now, not a celebrity or a caregiver. He needs to remember not everyone wants to be touched. 

“I’m going to get some work done in my office,” Victor says, thinking of Yakov, who will still be expecting him on a Skype call at noon. He’s not going to like pushing their touchpoint any later. Missing sleep only makes the grumpy old man even grumpier. Yuuri mumbles agreement, and Victor takes a cue to run upstairs. He can wear out his concern by reviewing practice footage until it’s time to leave.

-

Lunchtime forces him back downstairs, where Yuuri is already dressed and waiting. By the time they start their walk to the school, Victor is beginning to worry again. This is a first for him as a caregiver, and he’s not sure exactly how to handle it. It reminds him of his own grade school days, swinging his legs against a hard plastic chair outside the principal’s office, waiting to be reprimanded after Ivan put gum in his hair or he and Katerina got into a fight about whether Michelle Kwan was really a better skater than Slutskaya. 

But, if Victor is worried, then Yuuri is worse. He’s so quiet, eyes down as he shuffles his feet on the sidewalk. Despite Victor’s brief attempt at calming him earlier, it’s clear he’s still blaming himself for making Maia go to school. 

Victor does his best to distract him, trying to pull him into a discussion of the neighborhood, then simply rambling to fill the silence when Yuuri doesn’t bite. He has limited success, until the Chens’ shih-tzu dashes out to the edge of their decorative fence to yap at him. When Victor barks back, Yuuri looks far more horrified than amused, but his wide-eyed dismay is enough to get Victor laughing instead, and the lighter mood is contagious despite Yuuri’s resistance.

Then, they walk through the door of the school, and Victor spots Maia in the hallway beside her teacher. Mashka’s dark hair is flyaway around her head. Her brown eyes are wide and wet, and she’s chewing her lower lip, a self-comfort gesture she’s done since she was a toddler, after she gradually gave up sucking her thumb. She breaks from the teacher when she spots Victor, dashing down the hall, and he immediately drops to meet her, wrapping her up in the tightest hug he can manage without crushing her little ribs.

It’s hard to believe he’d worried, once, that he might not be able to care for Maia in the right way. Now, she looks at him with need, and a heady cocktail of love and instinct punches him in the gut. She may not be his daughter, but she’s still his _baby_, and all he wants to do is bundle her up and protect her from everything else in the world.

Before they’d walked in the door, Victor had thought he was prepared to listen, to hear what Driscoll might have to say with an open heart, but his darling girl is upset, and all Victor’s logic has gone right out the window. 

When the teacher interrupts their moment, it’s all fake smiles over a look in her eyes he knows all too well. He has no patience for her little crush on him, not today, not when it’s interfering with Maia’s happiness.

“What can I do for you, Katie?” He asks the teacher cooly, keeping his eyes on Maia so as not to give himself away. He knows that isn’t the woman’s name, but in all fairness, he can’t remember what her real name _is_, either. Catherine? Katerina? He could have just called her “Miss Driscoll” to be polite, but he’s not feeling very polite at the moment.

He deliberately dismisses her on their walk to the office, holding on tight to Maia’s tiny hand as she reaches for Yuuri with the other. Victor focuses his attention on making sure Mashka is busy and comfortable first, so she won’t be bored or upset again by the adults talking. She clings to him a little even as he points out the play area, but a little nudge from his splayed hand between her shoulder blades is enough to ground her, and she moves on to the new distraction.

With Maia settled, Victor can turn his attention back to Driscoll.

Her perspective says one thing, but Victor’s spent half his life in front of the press, side by side with duplicitous rivals. If he didn’t know how to read between the lines of a story, he’d never have made it to the senior level. The reality beneath the teacher’s version turns his stomach. Another child had been picking on Maia—_mocking_ his Maia for not having her mother in the picture any longer—and the teacher was punishing her for being upset by that?

It’s not the first time they’ve been down this road. Grown women, hiding behind a veneer of kind curiosity, approach Maia far too often with questions like, _Where’s your mommy?_ and it’s always Victor who has to deal with the fallout, the confusion of a child who knows only her own experiences and believes—correctly—that her family arrangement is normal, because it’s the only one she’s ever had. 

And then, to top things off, the teacher tries to bring Shiori into the conversation directly. A sly tilt of Driscoll’s head speaks volumes to her intent here: she’s seen an opportunity to go digging for gossip, and she’s leaping on it. Her concern has nothing to do with Maia’s well-being, but with sating her own curiosity. 

It’s time to make it clear her line of thinking isn’t going to get her anywhere. “We will not be discussing Maia’s mother,” Victor says, rising from his chair. “Not today, not tomorrow, and not at any time going forward. My personal life is none of your business.”

He senses, more than he sees, Yuuri standing up at his side, and he feels a little spike of satisfaction at that. They’re on the same wavelength. 

_Maia_, a little voice in his head reminds him, and he turns to check on her. She’s coloring at the little table, quiet but too still. He winces internally; she’s been listening. Sometimes he forgets she’s not a baby anymore, and he can’t just talk over her head. 

Crossing the room, he takes her hand as she tucks her drawing away and steels himself to deal with the teacher one last time. “Going forward, _Carla_—” No, that’s not even close to the right name. “I’d suggest you spend a bit more time talking with your students about non-traditional families, or I’ll be speaking with Principal Hughes about any further issues we have with _bullying_.”

Driscoll stands, clasping her hands as if that will keep Victor from noticing they’re trembling. She opens her mouth, and he prepares himself for her to dig the hole deeper, but to his surprise, it’s Yuuri who cuts her off, stepping between them.

“We’ll see ourselves out,” Yuuri says, “thanks.”

If Yuuri standing at his side had given Victor some petty satisfaction, he’s entirely unprepared for how this new gesture hits him. In these past five years, Victor has never had another person by his side in Chicago. He’s never had a _partner_ in raising Maia before. His stupid romantic heart skips a beat, warmth flowing through him, and _oh no_. 

_Yakov would have known this was going to happen,_ Victor thinks faintly. Yakov had warned him a hundred times that all those fairy tales and fantasy stories would come back to bite him someday. He’s already guided Victor through two break-ups with former ‘knight in shining armor’ sorts. Victor has a _type_, and something about being rescued, protected, supported always sets his heart aflutter.

He throws Yuuri a little smile of thanks as they walk toward the exit, though he knows it’s weak. His mind is still racing, along with his pulse. He soothes Maia’s concerns about her birthday surprise for him with easy habit, half his concentration on the now and the rest still trapped in that hallway, watching Yuuri step in, posture straight as an arrow, to protect Victor and Maia both.

“We’ve still got loads of time to plan before Christmas,” Yuuri tells Maia, reassuring, and that tugs Victor’s attention back. When had he told Yuuri his birthday was Christmas?

Yuuri pinks a little under Victor’s gaze, and Victor thinks _oh no_ again. He needs to get out of here and cool off before he says or does something to embarrass himself, and he mumbles out some excuse about meetings before he even remembers that it’s true—he is actually supposed to be calling Yakov as soon as he gets home. 

He aches a little at leaving Maia, knowing she’s disappointed he won’t come with them to the park, but it’s for the best, really. By the time he gets back to the house, maybe he’ll have remembered how to breathe.

As he tries to steady himself through the slow solo walk home, he pulls out his phone and fires off a text to the closest thing he has to a Love Guru. _Help. I just had a gay panic over my nanny. I’m an entire cliche now._

An icon pops up, showing Chris already busy typing a reply. It appears a second later. _Just remember that your nanny will never compete with this_. Attached to the message is an image, a gym mirror selfie of Chris with his body twisted at an alarming angle, winking over his shoulder while his bubble butt is on full display, encased in a pair of tiny black shorts. 

Victor smiles, teasing back out of habit. _Oh, I don’t know. I think you might have to take the silver medal this time._ The joke is old and well-rehearsed, but the comparison flashes across his thoughts an image of Yuuri’s backside, rounding out a pair of atrocious plaid pajama pants. Victor hadn’t even noticed himself looking before but _shit_, his text might have been right.

He doesn’t even bother responding to Chris’s next all-caps text of outrage. He stretches his legs, trying to walk home faster, but unable to outrun the reality that screams, _you’re doomed_.


	4. Christmas Market

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> You may notice this story now has a chapter count instead of an /?, and you may also notice the rating has increased. This chapter is not the reason for the increase, but I put together a long-term plan for this story earlier in the week which brought that about. 
> 
> This story has no specific update schedule and won't be acquiring one, but at least I know its full contents now. 
> 
> In this chapter, we're covering part of Ch. 7 of By Chance, with the skating scene following the Christmas market! 
> 
> The end of the chapter contains a couple lines in French, which are essential saying "You must be mistaken" and "Leave me alone". Translation help was provided by Sean, because "Google is an idiot." ;)

Victor is a fool, but at least he knows it. From the moment Yuuri looks at him sideways— mischievous, and perhaps a little shy—Victor knows he’s going to say yes, no matter how foolish the idea may be. Maia’s bouncing on her toes, bubbling over with youth and sugar, and as much as he struggles to deny her anything already, he’s even less prepared to turn them _both_ down. 

And that’s how Victor winds up in Millenium Park moments later, paying a bored teenager to rent ice skates.

Even in disguise, he’s taking a big risk here. At the rink where he practices during the week, Victor has always paid for private time, so his exposure is limited to two or three employees. Going out like on a public rink, where anyone might see him and recognize his movement, opens Maia up to exposure in a place where Victor can do little to hide her.

But, they’ve all been having so much fun together. Even just the act of tying on their disgusting, sweaty-sock scented boots brings about smiles and laughter, and Victor reminds himself for the tenth time that today isn’t a _date_. It can be hard to keep that in the front of his mind when Yuuri’s smiling, holding Maia’s hand, sharing food with them, and sparkling in the lights of the Christmas village.

Some piece of Victor had hoped, that when he asked Yuuri to join them today, he might figure out what Victor intended—or at least he might ask for clarification—but Yuuri doesn’t seem to have picked up on Victor’s intent, and apparently Victor is a coward as well as a fool. 

_Selfish as well_, he muses as he kneels to lace Maia into her skates. More than anything else right now, he wants to keep the day just like this: no rejection, no Yakov, no Russian Skating Federation—just Victor, Yuuri, and Maia, out together for the fun of it.

“You know,” Yuuri says suddenly, “that’s not a very good disguise. I can still see your hair. And once you start skating, anyone who was ever really your fan would know it’s you immediately.” 

Victor looks up. It’s as if Yuuri read his mind, and for a split second he thinks of saying _You’re right. Let’s go home._ But, seeing the fresh pink flush journey from Yuuri’s cheeks to his ears, Victor realizes what Yuuri’s protest is really saying. Yuuri is a _fan_ of his—that’s no secret now. He’s made too many comments in the past few months, and Victor knows how to read between the lines—not that Yuuri’s comments needed much reading. After he slipped up and revealed he knew Victor’s _birthday_ at the school that time, he might as well be wearing a sign around his neck that reads “Nikifanov.”

“Really? Even in rented boots? I think you have a lot of faith in me, Yuuri.” It’s the closest he’s gotten to calling Yuuri out on his fandom, and he watches with warm pleasure when Yuuri’s blush deepens. 

Standing, he offers a hand to Maia, helping her to hop down from the bench, then does the same for Yuuri. It’s not a play at something. He offers it because it’s the polite thing to do, but once Yuuri’s hand is in his—his fingers shockingly cold, but his skin so, so soft—it throws Victor off balance more than he’d like to admit. He tugs too hard, and Yuuri practically falls into his arms.

Damn the disappointment he feels when Yuuri’s dancer’s grace kicks in, and he catches himself.

That flash of poise reminds Victor, again, of Lilia, and he smiles, remembering the first day he saw Yuuri there in the agency lobby. Trying to return a little lightness to the mood, he teases Yuuri again about his disguise that day, and watches Yuuri fluster and squawk over the idea that Victor had been _watching_ him. 

As soon as they step onto the rink, Victor knows he’ll never regret this choice, no matter what ends up happening. Watching Maia take her first tentative steps onto the ice, he feels his heart grow three sizes. She’s frowning in concentration, staring down at her own feet so she can’t see him beaming, arms out for balance, and for a second it reminds him so much of the photos framed on his mother’s bookshelf—himself, maybe a year younger, looking curious but also distrustful in much the same way.

So maybe the ice is wet and pitted, and maybe Victor’s rented boots are dull as bread knives, but without this crummy little rink full of wobbly children he’d never have gotten to watch Yuuri pull Maia around the ice, spinning her while holding tight to both her hands. He’d never have seen the way Yuuri kneels to help her, pointing out little tricks the other kids are doing and explaining them. He’s so conscientious, so careful of her, but then he was a children’s coach in Detroit, wasn’t he? He has a lot of practice with exactly this.

Victor could never do it, not with such young children. He can tow Maia around, help her up when she tumbles, but so many of his childhood basics are long-forgotten, ingrained in his bones, instinct, and pure muscle memory. He has no idea how to _explain_ what it is he’s doing.

Yuuri breaks away from them, showing off and still teasing, and Victor finds himself enchanted. It’s nothing flashy, but Yuuri does have a lovely Ina Bauer. There’s this simply unmissable quality to his movement, even under less than ideal circumstances.

_I wonder if he ever considered ice dance,_ Victor thinks, even as he gathers himself to put on his own little show. Yuuri’s smile in response bright, and he cheers with Maia as if Victor just set a world record, even though his simple waltz jump would hardly net him a gold medal. Victor puffs up a little at that, and at the eyes of strangers he can feel darting his way due to Yuuri’s reaction.

He’d almost forgotten what it felt like, that surge of joy at a satisfying performance and the rush of attention that follows. He lets himself imagine, briefly, what it will feel like to be out in front of a real audience again, and he shivers despite his thick wool coat. 

For so long, Victor’s been thinking of that attention, that judgement, as a bad thing. So many eyes will be on him, expecting so much. It would be so easy to let them down. Victor had rejected the thought of what it might feel like to do well, but—if Yuuri and Maia are cheering for him now, how much more excited would they be, watching him from the stands at a competition? 

He can’t wait to find out. 

It’s such a happy thought, such a happy day, that it pushes anything else from his mind. It’s all skating, and Yuuri, and his Mashka shivering in her puffy coat as her sugar high begins to wear thin. Victor kneels, still smiling so hard his wind-chapped cheeks are aching as he helps Maia zip her coat.

Yuuri’s quiet, solemn voice cuts through it all like blades on ice. “There are some girls over there by the gate,” he says. “They’re staring at you.”

He may as well have dumped ice water over Victor’s head. “By the gate? Is that the only exit?” Yuuri shakes his head. At least there’s that. Maybe, if they’re looking at Victor, they won’t have noticed Maia, or at least they won’t have connected all the dots yet.

But he needs to get Maia out of here—fast—before her picture is splashed all over the internet. 

Victor stands, trying to put his body between the girls and Maia, blocking her from view. For the first time since he hit puberty and had to regain his jumps, he’s grateful for his broad shoulders. He rustles in his pockets for a moment, then produces a wad of folded-up twenties. “Take Maia,” he says, pressing the money into Yuuri’s hands, “and go home.”

“What about the rentals—?” Yuuri begins to protest, but Victor cuts him off. The longer he sticks around with Maia, the longer Victor speaks to them, the more likely it is that the girls will notice them.

“Leave them by the bench. Get out of here as quickly and quietly as you can and then take the nearest taxi. I’ll take care of the rest.” He urges them on, trying to balance keeping Maia calm with making the importance of the situation clear to Yuuri. He _thinks_ he’s doing okay with it, but it’s hard to say. He’s not cut out for things like this.

Once Yuuri and Maia are out of sight, headed for a cab, Victor too ducks out of the rink, plopping onto the bench beside their discarded skates. He can still feel the pressure of eyes on him, but he might be imagining it. He keeps his head down, face shadowed by the bill of his cap, and hopes they’ll go away.

“Excuse me?”

No such luck. Victor tilts his head to look at the girls sideways, trying to keep most of his face in shadow. There are three girls, all holding white skates they’ve brought from home. One of them stands a little in front of the others, her dark ringlet curls pushed back with a headband. “We just saw you skating and—are you Victor Nikiforov?”

Straight and to the point, he’ll give her that, but Victor has a few tricks up his sleeve to chose from. One, in particular, works better than most. 

“Quoi? Vous devez faire erreur.” The girls stare at him blankly and Victor resists the urge to smile. He’d begun to learn French in his late teens, but his fluency had improved greatly in the past five years, thanks to his friendship with Chris. As a result, even his most dedicated fans wouldn’t have expected him to speak the language so well—though a native speaker would certainly notice he’d picked up a Swiss accent to his words.

The girls are still watching him, so he bends back to finishing removing his boots, muttering, “Pitié, laissez-moi seul.” 

Either he’s managed to frustrate them or one of them speaks enough high school-level French to know what he’s saying, because, with a murmur of apology, they drift away. Victor stays down, watching them from under the brim of his hat as they lace on their boots and get ready to skate. Only after they enter the rink does he stand, turning quickly, and gather the boots he rented to turn in.

Maia’s little skates swing easily by their laces in his hand, and he watches them with regret as he hands them over the counter to reclaim his license from the attendant. He’d been having such a nice day just minutes before. If only it hadn’t ended so abruptly.

As he makes his way—alone now—back to the street to hail an Uber, he spots the lights of the Christmas market up the road once. He may not be able to have another day like this again, but at least he can get all of them something to remember it by. There had been a toy Maia was looking at in one booth, and—Wasn’t Yuuri interested in the chocolates? Of course, they’ll all have their photo with the tree as well, but what’s a trip without a souvenier? He bypasses the road and heads back to the market.


End file.
